


All The Way

by DoreyG



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crimes & Criminals, Developing Relationship, Domestic, Flameplay, Getting Together, Implied Relationships, Living Together, M/M, Night on Fic Mountain 2016, Period-Typical Homophobia, Self Confidence Issues, Stranded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 19:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7066645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This won't be permanent," the man assures him, breaking their stare off to glance around the apartment with a determinedly optimistic expression, "We'll be here a week at most, perhaps less if I can get the parts I need quickly, and then the Waverider will be back to rescue us. You’ll see.”</p>
<p>He takes in Ray, every enthusiastic and optimistic and boyishly handsome inch of him, for a second... And yet again restrains himself to a sigh, "we'll need to get a couch."</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pokolips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pokolips/gifts).



> Set in an alternate universe where Rory didn't betray the team on the Akeron, and ended up getting stranded in 1958 instead of Kendra. Also set in an alternate universe where Kendra and Ray didn't get together.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :D

He doesn't betray the team on the Akeron. He wants to, he comes within a breath of actually doing so, but in the end he simply doesn't follow through. The moment he gets within a breath of his gun he grabs it, sides with the rest of the team and drives the pirates away.

A pity, he thinks as he watches them taken into custody on the other ship, if he'd actually followed through maybe he would've found a life that made him _happy_.

Rip tries to talk to him afterwards, with a guilty expression, and Snart comes soon after, with an odd apology in his eyes. But he ignores both of them, because they're hardly going to have anything to comment on beyond him being a liability and an idiot and apparently not _suited_ for their grand band of heroes. Instead he dodges their faux almost-apologies, goes deep into the ship where he can be alone and maybe attempt to think through the shit show that his life has become.

The first person to find him there hours later, surprisingly enough, is Ray. He hesitates in the doorway for a long few seconds, and then finally seems to get the courage to step over the threshold when he arches a blunt eyebrow. Comes to sit down right next to him, with a bright smile that is only slightly timid around the edges, "you did a good thing today."

"Yeah," he grunts. But, largely instinctively, makes room for the guy anyway, "tell that to Rip. I'm pretty sure that he thinks I only helped out because I was too dumb to think of anything else."

"Come on, I'm pretty sure that he didn't mean it like-" Ray grinds to a halt, at another blunt arch of his eyebrow. Hesitates for about a second, and then smiles brightly again like absolutely _nothing_ is going to ruin his wonderful day, "and even if he did, why care about what Rip thinks? Sure, he _can_ be nice enough and he _does_ have several good ideas. But, and let's be honest here, he's hardly the sharpest crayon in the box himself!"

He stares at Ray with narrow eyes.

"You're doing just fine," Ray proclaims, completely oblivious to the sheer amount of doubt hovering in the air, "and if Rip can't see that, well, then that's his problem and his problem alone. Hey, do you mind if I stay down here with you? It's just that the rest of the ship is a little cramped, and these are the best acoustics that I've found around here and I was thinking of updating some functions of my suit and-"

...The man is a moron.

But, he has to admit begrudgingly as he continues to cheerfully babble on, he is a soothing one. And several hours later, several long and babbling minutes spent in Ray's company, he's almost forgotten all about the shittiness of the day.

 

\--

 

Their next mission is in 1958, smack bang in the middle of nowhere in a town that deserves to be set on fire so badly that he has to make an active effort to stop his fingers from twitching. Rip is still staring at him so warily, almost like he still wants to toss him out of a fucking airlock no matter how many times he's saved the dick's ass, that he almost refuses to do anything more than sulk on the ship for the duration of their latest funtime trip.

...But then Ray smiles at him, so hopeful and ceaselessly bright in the face of the awfulness of the whole fucking universe, and he finds himself strolling into town with the rest of them like a sap.

The plan is simple, even to a guy who apparently doesn't have the intelligence to rub two sticks together. He's going to go to the hospital with Stein and Sara, pose as the dumb janitor while they actually do the important stuff. Jax is going to check out the sights of the town, his _esteemed_ partner and the great Rip Hunter are going to play cops. And Ray and Kendra... Ray and Kendra are going to play house, slip into fifties life and spy on the neighbours like perfect little robots.

The knowledge makes him feel strange, kind of _itchy_ down in his stomach in a way that he doesn't know quite how to deal with. He remains largely silent throughout the meeting, tolerating Rip's guilty suspicion and Ray's oblivious cheeriness with low grunts. Only acts on the sensation afterwards, draws Kendra aside as everybody splits off into their little heroic teams.

"About Ray."

"My sweet, innocent husband," Kendra murmurs, but gives him a smile nonetheless. She's still on Rip's side, still doubtlessly thinks him Snart's fool sidekick like the rest of them, but she doesn't stare at him with outright judgement and he appreciates that more than he thought he would, "I'll keep an eye on him. Make sure that he doesn't go native in this... Lovely time."

Husband. The word causes the itching in his stomach to increase, spread in a way that he still can't examine too closely. He swallows over it, fixes Kendra with a firm glance instead, "if anything goes wrong..."

"I'll have his back, just as he'll have mine," Kendra assures him, and gives him the kind of look that suggests she sees right through him. Sees the swallow, sees the itching, sees the softer bits that apparently nobody actually expects him to have, "don't worry, Rory, I'll return Ray without a scratch on him. And, quite possibly, _fully_ in the mood for a rebound." 

He stares at her for a long second more, considers denying his concern at great length and storming out... Acknowledges the soothing of the itching, and slowly inclines his head instead, "you've been spending too much time with Sara, you know that?"

"She's surprisingly good company," Kendra retorts, with a smile almost as bright as Ray's permanent sunbeam, "you should try it some time."

 

\--

 

The ship disappears into the sky with only the faintest shudder, and all he can think is _of course_. He's been expecting to be left like this for a while now, ever since Snart started getting more obsessed with trying to be a pretty little hero and less obsessed with actually surviving to old age. It can't exactly be a shock, when he's been expecting it about as much as the rising sun.

...A little more confusing is the fact that Ray and Sara have been left behind too. But, hey, maybe Rip really _isn't_ the sharpest crayon in the box.

"Hey!" Sara yells, and takes off running like that's gonna do any good. Comes to a halt only when she's halfway across the field, hair falling loose over her shoulders and whole body shaking like she just can't help herself, " _hey_!"

"I..." Ray starts uncertainly, still standing at his shoulder. Frozen in place, confusion written across his face so clearly that it'd be almost adorable if it wasn't for the situation and the timing and the fact that he forcibly stopped himself from finding _anything_ adorable several decades ago, "this must be a mistake."

" _Hey_ , we're still _here_!"

"They'll be back in a minute," Ray continues, turning away from where Sara is still yelling at the sky to fix him with the most absurdly hopeful glance that he's ever seen, "or, uh, five minutes. They wouldn't just leave us here, stranded in the fifties. That'd be... Well, it's just impossible. Extremely impossible. The _most_ impossible. You agree with me, right?"

He opens his mouth, and then slowly shuts it again. Turns away from Ray's absurdly hopeful, absurdly _open_ and _trusting_ and all those silly little things that also stopped appealing to him all those decades ago, and settles for watching Sara scream at the sky instead. Somebody else can crush the guy's dreams, he's not _that_ much of a dick.

 

\--

 

They wait for half an hour, with Sara getting increasingly impatient and Ray's aura of hope never fading, before he finally decides to take action. Grabs Ray's elbow, gentler than he thought he was capable of, and draws him away with Sara in relieved attendance. As much as he'd _love_ to wait for the dicks who have made it perfectly clear that he doesn't quite fit amongst their perfect heroic band, Vandal Savage is still in the area and probably gunning for their blood. The risk is far too great to be soft over.

He steals a car, after a brief argument with Sara over the best way to go about it, and drives for half a day away from the pleasant little hamlet of dick headed idiocy. It'd be nothing, in 2016, but it's 1958 in all its glory and he figures that half a day's drive is basically the equivalent of a hop to another country in the good old modern day. He even considers driving further, maybe pausing for the night and continuing to hop onwards in the morning... But Ray starts to wilt as the sun starts to set, and yet again he can't quite find it in himself to be that much of a dick.

They stay the night in a motel, a ratty thing in a city big enough to almost spike _nostalgia_ in him, and the next morning they go apartment hunting at the behest of Ray. Sara is apathetic, he's lived out of worse things than cars before... But Ray is bright, and beaming, and keeps optimistically stating that they need a _base_ to work on summoning back the Waverider from.

...Sara glares at him, briefly, but he can't quite help caving in the face of that. It makes sense, really. He can live in a car, but it isn't exactly _that_ comfortable.

He's half braced for there to be problems, he's never been that good at disguising the fact that he's a thug with a flamethrower, but 1958 strikes again and the whole process is surprisingly easy. They find a small two bedroom apartment, with a landlord entirely willing to avoid asking too many questions about why two guys and an increasingly murderous looking lady would even want to get a place together. Even the final steps are relatively simple. Money exchanges hands, the landlord smiles politely at them, the door to the apartment is closed...

And they're left alone together. The three of them.

Or, more accurately, the two of them. Sara disappears the moment after the landlord does, heading into the bedroom she's obviously claimed as hers with a low grunt, and then it's just him and Ray staring at each other. Him silent and wary, Ray still smiling with tiredness so obvious in his eyes that it's a miracle he's not a pile on the floor.

"This won't be permanent," the man assures him, breaking their stare off to glance around the apartment with a determinedly optimistic expression, "We'll be here a week at most, perhaps less if I can get the parts I need quickly, and then the Waverider will be back to rescue us. You’ll see.”

He takes in Ray, every enthusiastic and optimistic and boyishly handsome inch of him, for a second... And yet again restrains himself to a sigh, "we'll need to get a couch."

 

\--

 

Sara emerges from her room eventually, but even then it’s only to huff briefly at them and march out of the door. He can’t bring himself to be too worried about it, even as Ray complains vaguely about ‘splitting the party’. Sara can take care of herself, probably better than either of them. Maybe she’ll even bring some food, when she stalks back from her adventures.

...Or, even more importantly, some money. They’re well set up for a few months, but he’s pretty damn sure that they’re going to be here a hell of a lot longer. He’s a criminal, he’s actively experienced what a lack of money can do. Before long they’re going to need a solid plan of how to make rent, how to get enough green together to buy food. And, with Sara sulking and Ray still firmly on his optimism train, it falls to him to make sure things keep working smoothly.

Heh, Rip is probably smugly rolling his eyes on his stupid space adventures right now.

Snart was always the planner, that is true, but the standards of 1958 are thankfully a little more lax and a lot less used to heat guns. He decides to start small, picks out a particularly posh restaurant over on the other side of town. Full of rich toffs and their pampered mistresses, so much money that he practically starts drooling at the thought of it. The whole thing will be simple – go in, get the goods, flee before any pesky cops turn up and keep them safe for another month. 

Or, at least, that’s the _plan_.

He comes out of their tiny bathroom that night, ready and rearing for some _action_ , and finds Ray sitting on his makeshift bed. He’s fiddling with the same bunch of wires he’s been poking at for a week now, tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth in fierce concentration. His eyes are so focused that he could probably slip by without being noticed, gently close the door behind him and slip off to rob rich folk without even a word...

He clears his throat instead. Watches as Ray’s head snaps up, so absurdly pleased to see him that he half thinks it’s a passive-aggressive insult, “Mick! Don’t tell me you’re off out too.”

But, no. Ray can joke, can even tease a little, but he never insults or mocks. He doesn’t have it in his beanpole body, his absurd cheeriness seems to have driven anything malicious out. He hesitates for a long second, trying to ignore the strange sensation in his stomach at that realization, then shrugs. Takes a few steps across the small room, and flops down on the couch next to the man, “it can wait. She not back yet?”

“Hasn’t returned since you locked yourself in the bathroom,” Ray sighs, easily distracted from his change of mind and even the bulky bag carrying his gear slung over his back, “which is probably for the best, as long as Savage hasn’t found her. If she was here she’d only start complaining over what I’m working on, and insisting that we’re going to be stuck here for the rest of our lives.”

He grunts, keeping his opinions to himself, takes a closer look at the rough tangle of oil and parts that Ray has fixed all of his hopes on “...What are you working on, anyhow?”

“You’re actually interested?” Ray asks, obviously surprised, hurries on before he can do more than start to scowl over yet another ever so veiled insult to his intelligence, “I’m sorry, I’m just so used to Sara yelling at me over this. Or to other people yelling at me over other things. Or to other people taking one look, and then letting their eyes glaze over. Um, it’s meant to be a sort of beacon.”

“A beacon?” He repeats, and stares at it thoughtfully for a second as Ray shifts almost anxiously at his side “...What, one to broadcast our location through time or some shit?”

“Exactly!” 

“It’s got a few too many wires sticking out of it, that’s gonna cut down on the efficiency,” he offers, yet again ignoring the pleased flutter his stomach gives when Ray offers him a surprised beam, “and you’re gonna have to add some security measures to it, so it only gets to who you actually want it to get to. Don’t want to bring those time masters down on our head, or even Savage.”

“I tend to add a few too many wires in the conceptual stage, I’ll clean that up,” Ray assures him, respect so clear in his eyes that it’s all kinds of stunning. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been respected before, not since he threw in his lot with the ever so brainy Snart, “and... You know, I didn’t even think of the security issue but that makes perfect sense. I doubt Savage has the tech to find us yet, but I bet this’ll be like honey to a bee to those time masters.”

“You believe far too much in the goodness of people,” he grunts, trying not to seem too pleased by the attention, “that’s your problem. You just don’t think through these things enough.”

“Yeah, but that’s why I have you,” Ray grins brightly, actually leans over. Nudges him with an elbow, before he can do more than blink, and then returns to his ever so bright enthusiasm, “now, any idea on how to accomplish those security upgrades? We could add a switch, is what I was thinking, maybe something working off the frequency...”

Eh, the rich toffs really can wait for another day. He watches Ray’s brightness, Ray’s seemingly eternal smile, and decides to settle in for the ride.

 

\--

 

Ray thankfully decides to stay in his room the next night, researching parts and manifestos and how not to get electrocuted by his own wiring, so he manages to pull off the robbery without a hitch. It’s simple, with modern knowledge and 1958 levels of stupidity. In, out, away in their stolen car with money in his hand.

Ray squints at the paper in the morning, and Sara offers up a wry smile over it, but otherwise there’s little reaction. He immediately starts planning the next one, just to stay ahead of the curve.

...And immediately gets distracted by Ray, sitting on his makeshift bed and beaming, the next night. But that’s alright. They’re going to be spending a long time here, and there are plenty of places to rob. He can afford to indulge the guy’s endless optimism, just this once.

Or twice.

Or, to be perfectly frank, thrice. But that’s alright, that’s _fine_. They fall into a nice rhythm. Sara generally ignores both of them, so that’s no issue, and he can handle the occasional distraction of Ray Palmer. He sits on the sofa next to him on some nights, sneaks out while he’s in the shower on some others, even waits until he’s fallen asleep in an uncomfortable looking ball upon occasion. They all settle into a rhythm, a comfortable one. And maybe it’s not the best life, he’s not sure what the best life even is any more, but it’s a lot better than being trapped on a ship with a partner he doesn’t even know anymore and the grand king of judgement himself.

Well, at least largely. Mostly. Partially...

He manages to largely avoid the question, until Sara unexpectedly corners him in the kitchen one day. Her hair wild over her shoulders, her eyes sullen in a way that he knows far too well, “what are you doing, Rory?”

“Making a sandwich,” he offers flatly, pointing down at a chopping board he shoplifted just a few days ago, “ham and cheese, quite nice.”

“I meant about Ray,” before, when they were on the ship, Sara would’ve at least smirked at that. Now she only glares at him, stalks across the kitchen and deliberately into his space, “tell me, Rory, do you honestly believe that we’re ever getting out of here?”

“You’ve been out of the apartment quite a lot,” he provides, sets the knife he was using down on the counter with a clearly audible and hopefully somewhat threatening _clack_ , “I dunno-“

“Do you honestly believe that the Waverider is ever coming back for us?”

There’s a long pause, as they stare at each other. The boiler makes a faint creaking noise in the background, the sun shines through the hideous floral curtains that were the only things they could find. Suddenly the trappings of 1958 are obvious, choking in a way that he’s largely managed to ignore.

“...Of course not,” he offers eventually, gives a low sigh as Sara’s chin raises in triumph, “I’m not sure exactly why they you two behind, maybe Rip had another one of his random shit fits or something, but I’m pretty sure they dropped me deliberately. The brick headed thief, hardly the best fit for their shiningly heroic band. They’re not coming back for me, not as long as Rip is in charge. We’re stuck here.”

“Then why do you keep encouraging him?” Sara hisses, steps even closer as the realization that they’re stuck in this time sinks in, “why do you keep listening to his babbling? Encouraging his stupid projects? Looking at him like a lovelorn puppy? _Why_?”

“I’ve been in prison,” he says flatly, watches Sara grind to a slightly confused halt before carrying on, “a lot. A hell of a lot, actually. I know what it takes to survive, what things people cling to just to get through one more day. I would’ve thought, given your past, that you’d know the same.”

“Rory...”

“The kid’s hope that we’ll get out of here, that they’ll come back for us with arms wide open and apologies pouring from their lips, is the thing he’s clinging to,” he shrugs. Tries his best to ignore the outrage on Sara’s face, the creeping thought in her eyes, “the thing that’s helping him to survive. I don’t know what’ll happen if we crush that, and I don’t want to.”

“You’re a criminal,” Sara growls spitefully, but her heart isn’t quite in it. Her eyes still look thoughtful, somehow puzzled over his point, “when did you grow a heart?”

“Time travel does weird shit,” he informs her, and picks up his knife again. Hopes vaguely that it serves as a dismissal, and not just as the sign of a hungry guy who really wants to eat his damned sandwich, “who knows, maybe if we’re stuck here long enough I’ll go back to my usual murdery self. We can hope.”

“...You’ll still look like a lovelorn puppy, though,” Sara offers as a parting shot, and quits the kitchen before he can do more than scowl.

 

\--

 

Sara finally puts her money where her mouth is, leaves with an oddly regretful glance in his direction. The moment the front door slams, so final that it’s almost like she’s been wiring it to do so all this time, Ray slumps down onto his makeshift bed with his head in his hands and his little beacon entirely forgotten in front of him.

He's not too troubled about Sara leaving, but to see Ray with his usual optimism robbed from him... Just doesn’t sit right. He takes one step away from where he was neutrally leaning against the wall, takes another towards the sofa when Ray fails to do anything more than continue sitting there with his head in his hands, “hey, Palmer?”

“Is this the point where you tell me that you’re leaving too?” Ray asks, muffled into his palms. Only looks up again, with a resigned smile, when he takes another wary step closer, “if so, would it be selfish to ask you to wait for a day or so? Just to let me catch my breath.”

And he could leave, it occurs to him quite suddenly. Could take this freely offered opportunity, pack his bags and head off as a free agent yet again. There aren’t as many opportunities as in the future, sure, but with a flame gun and a bit of determination 1958 could quickly become just as appealing. He could head out of this tiny apartment and become a king, a boss, a guy who never once has to worry about protecting those around him. He could be _free_.

...It’s another idea that doesn’t sit too well with him. He grunts, a vague answer to the question. Flops down besides Ray, in a long stretch, and tolerates his confused expression as patiently as he can, “we’re better off without her, you know.”

“Are we?” Ray asks, looking so confused that it’s... Well, he’s pretty sure he hasn’t actually ever thought of anything as adorable in all his life. But he supposes, if he has to choose a word, that Ray’s expression is closest to that, “and how do you figure that? We’re one person down, Savage is still out there and if- _when_ Rip comes for us we’re going to have to explain that we let one member of our party wander off into the wilds of 1958!”

“Pretty sure that’s never been said before,” he offers wryly, refuses to get distracted by the flush of red that spreads across R’s face at that, “Look, we can take care of ourselves. Sara can take care of herself, probably even better than us. And Rip stranded all three of us in the past without a word and deserves no explanation for anything. This might seem bad right now, might seem shit awful right now, but it’s actually good .”

“ _Good_ -?!”

“Sara will be a lot happier, not stuck in one place,” he points out, watches as Ray’s outraged mouth slowly closes, “you’ll be a lot happier, not having her yelling at you every five seconds. And I’ll be a lot happier, because I’ll have an actual bed.”

“...Okay, that all makes some sense,” Ray admits, only a touch reluctantly. Still sighs, and presses a firm hand back to his forehead, “I still can’t help feeling bad, though.”

“About?”

“Oh, all sorts of things. Driving her away, not listening to her concerns, putting far too much effort into this and not stopping for a second to think about what either of you felt...” Ray trails off. Removes his hand from his forehead again, and fixes him with a faintly anxious glance, “you don’t agree with her, do you?”

“Uh,” he hedges, decides to take refuge in being a big dumb criminal to give him time to think through such a dangerous question, “about what? I mean, Sara was a lady with a lot of opinions on a lot of subjects. You may need to-“

“ _Mick_ ,” Ray glares at him, surprisingly not fooled for a second. Like he actually thinks he has some _intelligence_ floating around in his big hollow skull, or something, “about the beacon. About how dumb trying to call them through space is, about how foolish it is to wait for them. About... About how they’re never coming back, and we should just move on with our lives.”

He hesitates for a long second, stunned for so many reasons that it’s kind of a miracle he doesn’t explode with them “...What I think doesn’t matter.”

“Mick!” The horror in Ray’s eyes is almost enough to touch his heart, or what’s left of it, “of course it-“

“What _matters_ ,” he continues, deliberately and so truthfully that he surprises himself, “is that you think there’s some chance of them coming back, and that you’re willing to do mad science to prove that. I’m just a dumb criminal, I don’t really understand this shit. But if you do, and you still believe that they may ride in like heroes to save the day... Well, I think that just might be worth holding onto.”

“...Huh,” Ray says softly, sits thoughtfully back on the sofa, “I think you may understand more than you’re saying, Mick.”

“Well-“

“And I also think that you’re far more than just a dumb criminal,” Ray smiles at him, causing all the words to fall out of his head before he can finish. They spend a long moment staring at each other silently, before the man finally turns back to the beacon and allows his smile to become thoughtful, “they will be back for us, they _have_ to be. And I’m sure this is the key. Now, if I just tweak a few more wires...”

The fluttering in his stomach that’s remained there all these weeks starts slowly stretching up through his chest. He ignores the scream of his common sense, remains sitting next to the working Ray instead. Watching him work, the darkness of his hair and the brightness of his smile through everything else.

 

\--

 

Ray returns to his usual levels of enthusiasm easily after Sara’s departure, with a level of resilience that he really didn’t expect from the kid, and life returns slowly to normal.

...Well, as normal as can be when you’re a pyromaniac criminal and a shrinking scientist stuck in 1958. But he’s never really been the details guy. If Snart was here he’d probably keep track of it, as he’s not the whole thing is free to descend cheerfully into chaos.

Ray works all day on the beacon, with a level of focus that only just strays over into the obsessive. He fiddles with the wires, regularly rips out the innards and even alters the paint job a few times. When pressed on the issue, he only laughs and says that he can never decide whether silver or bronze looks more scientific. He’s endlessly optimistic despite the situation, forcefully cheerful. They still sit up on most nights discussing the finer points of the engineering.

He busies himself during the day, it turns out that Ray is a shit awful cook even by his standards and he very quickly decides that somebody has to take care of the practical details, but most of his business is conducted after the sun sets. He stays up most nights talking to Ray, spends the other nights making sure that Ray actually has a place to talk. He hits up shops, posh restaurants, even one or two banks. Tries to keep it only to the toffs, a Robin Hood style deal that’ll maybe be seen as more heroic than just taking everything in front of him.

Heh, Ray’s permanent levels of hope must be rubbing off on him.

He knows the guy isn’t dumb, just a little oblivious to pretty much everything around him. He’s started to notice the frequent absences, the coming home early in the morning smelling of gasoline, the way that the table is always laid. The narrow eyed glances over the paper are becoming a common thing now, a feature of the morning just like orange juice and annoyingly chipper birds. He knows that a confrontation is coming soon, and he’s pretty sure it’s going to be a doozy.

And he’s honestly not sure if he prefers it to the idea of the other confrontation they’re going to have to have, the one about how Ray has started to look at him with that absurd softness in his eyes.

 

\--

 

It all comes to a head one fairly ordinary night, when he was least expecting it. Having his own room has largely made going out to rob places easier, less obviously requiring sneaking around. He knew that a confrontation was coming, sure, but he thought it’d be over breakfast or something tensely brought up during one of their engineering sessions.

Not so. He comes out of his room one night, suited and booted, to find Ray sitting on the sofa with puppy dog wounded eyes. And it all goes downhill from there.

“I just don’t know why you’re doing this!” Ray yells, shaking the paper in his face like he wants to bop him on the nose with it, “did you think I wouldn’t notice? You’re _hurting_ people, Rory, and it makes about as much sense as- as...”

“Quantum mechanics?” He provides wryly into the stuttering gap, “look, I don’t really get what your problem is. It’s not like I killed anybody.”

“ _Rory_ ,” Ray says with utter frustration, and shoves the paper into his face again. Which, you know, is just _dandy_ , “you put a woman in hospital with burns yesterday. From the other stories I’ve seen, you’ve done the same to at least four other people. You have to know how dangerous that is.”

“I do,” he admits easily. Annoyed, but with a flash of genuine hurt underneath it that is far harder to work through, “but I also know how to control it. Snart made me disassemble the gun a hell of a lot of times before he let me use it, I know its limits almost as well as I know my own.”

“Rory...”

“No,” he snaps, suddenly angry. In a way that has been boiling for a while, rolling right under his skin, “I know you think I’m just some mad dog, as dumb as can be, but I know how to avoid killing people just as well as I know how to actually kill ‘em. I know I’m a nutter and a moron and a thousand other stupid things besides, but at least get through your disgust enough to give me that.”

A long pause lingers between them, quiet and mystified. And then-

“Mick,” Ray says with surprising softness, grabs his arm and guides him back to sit on the couch. A good thing, his legs are tired from all that standing and yelling, “I don’t think you're a mad dog, and I most certainly don’t think that you’re dumb.”

He stares for a long second, somehow stunned by Ray yet again treating him like he’s not just Snart’s idiot sidekick “...Buh?”

“This isn’t about that,” Ray assures him solemnly. And then actually cracks a smile, an absurdly bright thing that leaves his stomach fluttering just slightly in the aftermath, “the opposite, in fact. I think you’re so much better than this. I think you are smart and practical and possess more skills than even you realize. I think you could be anything, and it kills me to see you falling into the same old cycles over and over again when you could hang the stars in the sky if you just tried.”

“Poetic,” he grunts, because it’s the most sarcastic thing he can manage considering the circumstances. Nobody has ever been as nice to him as Ray, it’s the kind of thing that breeds slightly absurd amounts of loyalty, “you are aware that one of us needs to keep us in food. Right, Shakespeare?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that...” Ray gives a flattered chuckle, stops when he sees the amused raise of an eyebrow, “um, I know. And I will start pulling my weight as opposed to just sitting around in my head all the time, I swear. It’s just that you could be so much more than you’ve allowed yourself to be, so much better. And I don’t want to push you into anything you aren’t, I’m not Rip for crying out loud, but I just think that if you tried-“

“Hn,” he says, and thinks on it. Thinks on Ray’s smile, his optimism, his neverending faith even in the things that deserve it the very least... “I’ll consider it.”

“That’s all I ask.”

 

\--

 

Ray gets a job as a professor, something to do with physics and mechanics and the stars above. He worries briefly about how exposed it’ll leave them, about how it could take just one blabbing student to bring Savage right down upon their heads, but in the end it turns out to be not that bad a thing. The university is sleepy, the students an amusing mixture of self obsessed and dragging young families behind them. And Ray is happy with it, a surprising beam on his face every night as he comes home describing the stupid things his students have said and the staff politics that still baffle him.

It turns out he can put up with a lot, if Ray’s happiness is right there.

He follows the man’s example, swallows his pride and gets a job as a mechanic at a local car shop. The pay is kinda lousy, and he frequently has to restrain the desire to set the whole gasoline soaked place on fire... But it’s yet again a lot better than he was expecting, a lot less confining. The work is steady, his boss is happy not to poke his nose in as long as he keeps up and the customers start to trust him with surprising speed. And Ray is proud of him, makes him tell any funny stories he has over and over again and laughs at all the right parts.

He’s always chafed a little at domesticity, burned a fucking house down the last time he tried anything close, but he finds himself settling into this routine quite happily. They go out for work in the morning, they come home at night, he cooks as Ray babbles about his day, Ray eats as he talks about his, they move on to engineering matters and generally end up in their separate beds before midnight.

It’s... Nice.

And he kinda, to his surprise, wants to keep it. Wants this routine, wants the stupid apple pie nature of it in a way that would cause Snart to laugh and laugh and laugh...

 

\--

 

He ain’t the most perceptive of folk, he always had Snart or even Lisa to take care of that, but as time wears on he can’t help but notice the way that Ray keeps looking at him. Thoughtful, soft around the edges like he just can’t help himself. There are feelings there, not even bothering to be hidden, and... Well.

If it was just once, accompanied with a blunt offer or not, he could ignore it. Stuff happens, when you’re trapped in a tiny space together. He saw it on the Waverider, with the way that Jax panted over Kendra and Kendra herself looked longingly in the direction of Sara. He’s seen it even before the Waverider, with cellmates in prison and people on tight jobs together. He’s even experienced it himself once or twice, those few incidents that Snart won’t ever speak of but that left them both satisfied and boneless.

But.

This isn’t just a one time thing. He looks up at breakfast, and Ray is staring at him fondly. He’ll head out to lunch sometimes, to find Ray standing there with a bag of sandwiches and eyes openly raking over where the sweat has bled through his shirt. He’ll be making dinner, and will suddenly become excruciatingly aware of Ray’s eyes lingering on the back of his neck. He’ll be talking about some mechanical part late at night, and will glance over to find Ray’s face so full of appreciation that his tongue actually trips over the words.

Nobody has ever looked at him with softness before, certainly not for so long. He’s always been the one night stand guy, the brief fling, the person people back away from in the bar the moment he opens his mouth. And he’s always been fine with that, it’s hardly like he spent his entire childhood dreaming of having the perfect nuclear family, but when he sees Ray looking at him like that...

He’s not sure what to do, with that continued level of regard.

He supposes, as he watches Ray chuckle over his students’ understanding of quantum mechanics with that same softness lingering in his eyes, that he’ll have to think about it.

 

\--

 

The walls in the apartment are as thin as paper, the same as a thousand dives that he’s fled to after jobs gone wrong. Ever since he moved into this room he’s been able to listen to Ray’s bedtime routine clearly enough to memorize every single detail. The way he steadily sets his glass of bedtime water down on the side table, the way he pulls his cute fifties style pyjamas on, the way he turns out the light with a somehow cheery snap and pulls the covers right up to his chin.

And sometimes, what happens afterwards.

It’s December, well into the holiday season even before everybody started having an over the top love affair with neon. Mistletoe isn’t so common here, but when they’ve gone to the shop he’s seen Ray staring at the absence of it with oddly regretful eyes – like he’d buy some if he could, string it up all over the apartment and wait for them to accidentally bump into each other under a clump of it. He never thought the guy capable of more than being a bit miffed, but for at least half a month the frustration has been coming off him in waves.

And so it’s no surprise that he’s started choosing to indulge himself a little often.

The bed next door creaks, and it takes all his strength to avoid just leaping up and doing something. Ray is in the early stages now, he’s learned that much from listening to him. He’s gentle at first, slightly teasing as if he’s only just discovering that he has a cock. He can only barely hear the slide of flesh over flesh, can more clearly hear the faint grunts that the guy makes as if he’s trying to contain himself.

He doesn’t do so for long. Soon Ray starts going faster, rougher than he would’ve expected from literally any of their interactions. The grunting remains, if lengthening into something slightly more breathy, but is soon overtaken by the slap of flesh against flesh. It seems like Ray, ever so sweet and innocent Ray, likes to be properly _worked_. And he wonders, wonders deeply, if he’s like that with a partner too. If he wouldn’t mind a little roughness, a little pain with his pleasure, a hand with actual callouses working him over...

He doesn’t have time to wonder for long. As he clenches his fists in the bedspread, reminds himself that he’s decided not to do his usual dumb plan of charging in and ruining everything, the bed next door starts to creak against the wall. A steady sway as Ray properly gets into his stride, the slap of flesh and the sound of groans and-

“ _Mick_.”

And _fuck_ , he’s not a saint. He scrambles his fingers below his own waistband, closes his eyes as they find his cock. He can be quiet. And from the sounds of it, Ray wouldn’t mind hearing him that much anyhow.

 

\--

 

It all comes to a head on new years, as 1958 ticks boringly into 1959.

He knows he should’ve expected it, it’s hardly like 1958 is the most hip and happening place by any stretch of the imagination, but New Years here is kinda the opposite of a big deal. There are no fireworks here, just wholesome silence and the streets outside blanketed with a light sheet of snow. They don’t bother with a TV, ‘cause they’re kinda absurdly expensive these days and he didn’t get around to stealing one before Ray put a kibosh on the whole crime thing, but he’s got the feeling that it’s probably the same for the rest of the world. No fireworks, no street parties, no real show. Most people are probably in bed before midnight.

Ray still makes an effort though, in one of his increasingly rare attempts to act like they aren’t trapped here for eternity. And he supports it, in one of his increasingly pathetic attempts to give the guy what he wants. They get paper hats, somehow. Sit around all night with full cups of alcohol, and chat mechanics because there’s little better to do. Ray’s cup doesn’t go down beyond a sip all night. He still screws up his face when their battered second hand clock ticks over to midnight, and leans over for a kiss that’s trying to be sloppily drunk but that instead just comes over as nervous.

The kiss is clumsy, uncertain. Ray’s hands shake where they’re pressed against the side of his face, and his lips move as if he’s not quite sure if there’s a different set of rules for kissing a guy. His dark eyelashes flutter, his hair is ridiculously fluffed up where it was leaning against the back of the couch and he seems completely unsure of the function of his tongue. It is, it goes without saying, possibly the best kiss he’s ever had.

Ray is the first one to draw back. Slow like he doesn’t want to, and doesn’t that send a shock of warmth right through the withered thing he calls a heart. There’s silence for a long moment, and then those puppy dog eyes open and stare at him ever so hopefully, “you didn’t jump out of the window.”

“You were expecting me to?” He asks, and has to catch his breath at the smile that spreads across Ray’s face. Fuck, gone at a smile. If Snart could see him now he’d have a field day, shore up his stocks of smugness enough to last him for the rest of his life, “long past the gay panic stage here, Palmer.”

“I thought the fifties might’ve rubbed off on you!” Ray protests, but still with that smile lingering. Making him dumb, even dumber than he usually is, “and then I thought I’d have to pretend to be drunk, so you’d forget this whole thing.”

“It wouldn’t have gone very well. You ain’t been drinking all night,” he barely restrains a smile as Ray gives a surprised laugh, doesn’t have to restrain it for long as the reality of the situation sets in. Ray sitting so beautiful and optimistic across from him, a common criminal whose only real talent is setting fire to things “...I’m still not gonna tell you that this is a good idea, though.”

“Here we go.”

“Here we-?” He stares at Ray for a long few seconds, shakes his head in confusion and decides to move on as best he can, “I’m a criminal, a common as muck one with about as many brains as a rock. I may be a good kisser, but somebody as smart as you shouldn’t have to be told why I’m bad news. Hell, I’m basically the walking definition of a bad idea.”

“You’re not a bad idea,” Ray says firmly, holds up a hand before he can do more than scowl and open his mouth, “and you’re not dumb, and you may well be a criminal but... Well, you’re not a common one. You may act all big and tough and angry – heck, you may _be_ all big and tough and angry a lot of the time – but you’re more than that. You’ve got common sense, you’ve got passion, you took care of me when you could’ve just made like Sara and ran off.”

“You’re delusional,” he offers flatly, refuses to let himself be touched by that soft look that lingers in Ray’s eyes, “and if you think that you have no idea of who I am, of what I’ve done. You should've listened to your little friends back on the ship, they had a better view of me.”

“I’ve lived with you for almost a year now, I think I have some idea of who you are,” Ray argues, pinning him to the couch with a determined glance, “and you want me to listen to Rip, seriously?”

“If not Rip, then maybe Snart,” he snaps, surprised at how much the words hurt as they come out. He gave up on the court of public opinion long ago, when the world looked at a messed up kid stuck in juvy and decided he was already a lost cause. But now, with Ray staring at him with such hope... “Sara, Stein, Jax. Ask basically anybody on that flea bitten ship, and they’ll call me a basket case and wish that I’d never came along in the first place.”

“They wouldn’t-“ Ray starts hotly. Grinds to a halt, and sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose “...And even if they did, they’d be wrong and their opinions wouldn’t exactly matter anyway.”

“Palmer-“

“Do you actually think they’re coming back?” Ray asks, taking his hand away from the bridge of his nose to glare. And there is finally the boiling over of the last few months, the conclusion of the way that Ray has stopped staring at his wires and started staring at him instead, “answer me honestly, Mick, do you believe there’s any chance they’re returning for us?”

He hesitates for a long second, surprised by the turn of the conversation. Still pinned by that look in Ray’s eyes, that hopeful determination to get what he wants, “I think you believe it.”

“That’s not an answer,” Ray sighs, but leans closer anyway. That same look still in his big eyes, more attractive than it really has any right to be. He knew it anyway, but yet again it’s brought home to him how completely and stupidly gone he is for this guy, “but it still proves my point. A bad idea wouldn’t have taken care of me all this time, a bad idea wouldn’t have stayed, a bad idea wouldn’t have defended my absurd hopes even when he thought there was absolutely no chance of them coming true.”

“A good idea wouldn’t have kept robbing places,” he counters stubbornly, truing desperately to hold onto his anger in the face of that knowledge, “a good idea wouldn’t have sent several people to hospital with burns, a good idea-“

“A bad idea wouldn’t have stopped when I asked him to,” Ray says, soft and absolute, “look, I want you and I _know_ that you want me. And this may be a bad idea, because of you or me or the inherent unwiseness of getting into a homosexual relationship in 1958, but... It also just might be a good one, the best one.”

He stares for another long and hesitant moment, suddenly aware of just how much of Ray’s hope has rubbed off on him...

“It doesn’t have to be a big thing,” and how much of his pragmatism may just have rubbed off on Ray. As the guy smiles, and moves closer still, “it doesn’t even have to be a little thing, really. I just think that, whatever it is... It’s worth a try. Don’t you?”

And he doesn’t have to hesitate for even a second over his reply this time, he defences so low that they might as well not even be there for the first time, “I’m a criminal, not a liar.”

And Ray smiles, and leans ever so hopefully in.

 

\--

 

He expects Ray to have rethought the whole thing by the next morning, to glance up at him over breakfast and actively recoil, and is braced for that even before he walks into the kitchen. Ray will think better of it, life will get back to normal, everybody can go back to hating him as usual-

"Hey," Ray says softly, the moment he sees him, and surges forwards to kiss him. His mouth tastes of morning breath, and he's slightly sloppy with sleepiness. It's only those details that bump the kiss back into second place, on the list of the best kisses that he's ever had, "I, uh, tried to make breakfast for you. I don't think it went very well, there might be eggs on the ceiling and-"

...Huh.

Well, maybe it's a delayed reaction. He kisses Ray back, because he hasn't suddenly discovered sainthood overnight, and goes to scrape the eggs from where they're stuck. Surely Ray will look at him at some point in the afternoon and flinch back, or will realize his mistake at some point in the night and jump out of the window. He just has to harden himself, and wait.

And wait.

And, as it turns out, _wait_. Because Ray doesn't go wide eyed that afternoon, or leap out of any windows that night. He doesn't start screaming the next day, or wildly sobbing the day after that. He doesn't sprint for it a week afterwards, or jump in a car and disappear a fortnight later. A whole month happens, ticking by slowly and warily, and he still doesn't come to his goddamn senses in the slightest.

No. He keeps acting... Nice, determined, like he _actually_ thinks this is a good idea. He casually kisses him the next day, attempts a soft hug the day after. He's still cheerily sitting on the couch talking about engineering a week afterwards, still insistently sprawling in his bed a fortnight later. A whole month happens, and not once does the realization of how completely stupid this entire thing is work its way through his thick skull. He remains smiling, remains optimistic, remains _Ray_.

And nobody, nobody in his entire life, has ever looked at him like Ray has. Soft, longing, with a certain sort of quiet pride that seems actually _happy_.

"You need to stop looking at me like I'm suddenly going to realize that I'm not the final girl in some sort of overly elaborate horror movie," Ray informs him one day, pressed up against his side on the couch with his lips all swollen and his eyes quietly content "...Uh, you know what I mean. I know what I'm doing, I know what I want and I know who I want it with. I'm not gonna run from that any time soon."

"Still a bad idea," he grunts. But maybe, just maybe, allows his wariness to ease just a little. This is going to go terribly wrong, as all good things in his life tend to before too long - but that doesn't mean that he can't appreciate it, while he still can.

 

\--

 

They start having sex, of course, because it's not exactly like one touch from Ray's hand is going to drive him on to sainthood. Besides, it would take more than a saint to resist the guy. The needy way he pouts, the slide of his lips, the surprising muscles in his chest, the soft way he gasps at even the slightest touch to his nipples, the way he _feels_ inside...

Yeah, it'd take a god to resist that. A modern one, all love and peace and no judgement. And he's certainly not one of those, has always been far more suited to the old fire and brimstone kind.

After their first time he rolls off Ray, and slumps down on his back. His chest is sheened with sweat, he feels both more exhausted and more satisfied than he ever has with any one night fling he picked up in a bar. His veins still feel slightly fizzy, bubbling like he's drank too much lemonade as he watches Ray stretch out and honestly _beam_. It's probably a result of just coming his brains out.

"There," best to stick to that explanation, best to stop himself from paying too much attention to the fondness in Ray's smile, "how could anything that felt that good _possibly_ be a bad idea?"

"You're a grown man," he grunts, very narrowly stopping himself from falling in. Because if he pays too much attention to Ray's smile - Ray's fondness, Ray's optimism, Ray's sheer _beauty_ capable of going in deeper than any knife - he knows for sure that he's gonna be lost forever, "you shoulda learned by now that physical pleasure doesn't always mean something good."

Ray stares at him in silence for a long moment, lips pursed and eyes skeptical, "name one example."

"You cannot be real," he grunts, incredulously. Props himself up on his elbows, and indulges this ridiculous kid who has just happened to stumble off the sensible path and right down into his bed, "alcohol, drugs, setting fire to your hand for the hell of it and watching your flesh _burn_ -"

"Okay, okay!" Ray huffs, reaches over to gently swat at his arm. Despite his reprove, the easy humour in his expression remains - twinkling in his eyes, waiting in the curve of his smile like he's actually _happy_ , "so maybe my brain still hadn't rebooted after that orgasm you gave me. But, really, that's entirely your own fault and I shouldn't be blamed for it."

He grunts, oddly... Pleased, by such easy teasing.

"...And it still doesn't mean that I was wrong," Ray continues, thoughtful and soft. Holds up a hand before he can even think, in his post sex state, of protesting, "at least, not about you. To use a metaphor that'll appeal, we're dynamite together. And no matter what hang-ups you have, I'm pretty sure that something like that can't be a bad thing."

"Such a romantic," he huffs, and only realizes what he's said the moment afterwards - when Ray's eyes widen, and Ray's smile grows just a touch more delighted. He freezes for a second, awkward, and then pushes himself up on his elbows and decides to take the good old coward's way out, "I'll go get a cloth, for clean up. Not like you want to _sleep_ in this mess or anything, no matter how wonderful you think it is."

It's only a few minutes later, as he's staring into the bathroom mirror and trying to calm himself, that he acknowledges that it may already be too late. That he may already be lost forever, drowning in Ray's stupid ass optimism... And may just mind that a hell of a lot less than he ever thought he would.

 

\--

 

"Do you think they miss us?" Ray asks one day, pretty much out of nowhere.

It's been a nice day, kinda ordinary in this routine they've settled into in the weeks since Ray first kissed him. It's a Saturday. They woke up, they fucked, they had breakfast, Ray poked at his contraption in an increasingly halfhearted manner for most of the morning. It's only now, just as he's starting to vaguely consider lunch, that things change.

He sets down the cup of coffee he was drinking on the table, tries to think of an answer with Ray's ever so bright eyes staring at him, "I think they might miss you."

"That's not exactly what I was asking," Ray scolds, his mouth developing that pinched look it always does when he tells the truth.

"It's the honest answer, though," he grunts, tries to think desperately of a way to carry on as Ray continues looking at him with that pinched expression. He doesn't like it, when Ray looks at him like that. It makes him feel... Guilty, "look, I still can't understand why they left _you_ here. You're useful, you're bright and at least half the team really seem to get on with you. I can totally imagine Kendra, and probably Jax and Stein, getting shirty over Rip screwing you over without a word. I can even imagine them getting all het up over Sara, despite her murdering tendencies. But as for me-"

"Mick," Ray says slowly, the pinched look growing into a glare.

"...Heck, they're probably _glad_ that I'm gone," he finishes stubbornly anyhow, levelly meets Ray's angry eyes and tries to silence that persistent guilty voice in his head, "probably threw a party, the moment they knew I was out of their hair."

"That's simply not true," but Ray refuses to let himself be silenced. Abandons his vague fiddling with his wires, and edges over until their thighs are bumping, "you might not be the most obviously friendly person, Mick, but people _did_ like you. If Kendra would've spoken out for me, she would've spoken out for you. If they would've got angry over Sara, then they would've gotten angry over you."

He grunts, unsure of how to argue the point. Knots his hands in his lap, and refuses to make a sound more.

"...Besides," there's no point. Not when Ray, with all his brightness and determination and ceaseless optimism no matter how little the situation deserves it, seems set on speaking for him, "what about Snart? Wouldn't he have been at least a little annoyed?"

"I doubt it," he says, surprised by the twinge of pain the thought of Snart - and the thought of how Snart thinks of him - causes, "he's probably the one that opened the bottle of champagne."

"Rip would never allow champagne on the ship," Ray jokes, but it falls flat. Kind of hard for it to soar, with anger making his voice all shaky and small. The kid is outraged for him, maybe he'll stop being surprised by that one of these days, "you were close."

"We _were_ ," he agrees bitterly, and suddenly all of his own anger is coming out. All of his own anger, and pain, and helpless _hurt_ over how he's lived for four decades now and still can't escape being treated like the piece of shit he is, "we've been with each other ever since I was a teen, you know? Ever since I saw that scrawny little shit in juvy, and took it into my head to protect him. He was always the brains, and I was always the brawn and I _thought_ we'd happily be that way forever. Fire and ice, Pinky and the Brain... Partners."

Ray stares at him silently for a long few seconds, wide eyed "...So wouldn't he care? At least a little?"

"You would think," he huffs, shrugs his shoulders and blinks away the surprising prickle in his eyes. Allergies. It's almost spring, and there are several reasons why he's so addicted to burning the earth, "but not since we joined that damn ship. He's changed, and he seems _disappointed_ that I'm not willing to pack my bags and immediately go along with him. Disappointed, that I can't just shed my skin and become something I'm not."

"Mick..." Ray starts slowly, hesitates for a second. And then, to his surprise, simply shrugs and leans forwards - the hug is awkward, but nicer than he ever expected. Ray's arms are warm, his hair doesn't even itch when he lays his head upon his shoulder, "you are good no matter who you are, or who you choose to be."

"I-" he stutters. Entirely unsure what to do with the renewed prickling in his eyes, the sudden warmth in his chest even more pronounced than that damn fluttering.

"I'm hungry," Ray pronounces, mercifully. Leans back from their embrace, and fixes him with an eternally bright smile, "what do you want to do about lunch? I was thinking that I could cook, for once. One of the women in my class had this great recipe for a chicken sandwich, and I was thinking-"

 

\--

 

No matter how hard you try, and how much you're used to it, you can't be wary all the time. You can manage a day of tension, a week straight of stress, a month or so of breathless waiting for something to go wrong... And then you start to unclench. As things keep going well, you relax just a little and even start to think that there might be nothing waiting in the shadows for the slightest stumble. Nothing breathlessly aching for the chance to go wrong. Nothing bad in the world.

It's dangerous, but... Sadly unavoidable.

Which explains exactly why he's surprised, when Ray turns up at the garage one day. Why his heart jumps, when he glances up from a car to find Ray standing near the door and cheerfully holding an honest to god picnic basket. He's not expecting it, it doesn't fit in with their routine, it isn't _safe_ -

And then Ray smiles at him, bright and only faintly confused from his doorway. And he slowly starts to calm again, the pounding of his heart calming to that far more familiar beat that always happens when Ray is around.

"Why'd you come?" He grunts, once he's finished his work and strolled out to meet the guy. The spring sunshine is bright around them, it's almost _romantic_ , "the university is across town, and I thought you had lectures..."

"All this afternoon," Ray confirms, and continues giving him that ever so bright smile. So oblivious, so charming, so utterly disarming in a way that he's never gonna figure out how to deal with, "but my first one was cancelled, several of my students have kids with colds and it wouldn't have been _fair_ to them, and I had an hour or so spare and so I thought-"

"That you'd wander all the way over here?" He asks, incredulous.

"...Well, _yeah_ ," Ray gives him a _look_ , like he's not exactly sure what the issue is, and bends to dig around inside his picnic basket, "where else was I going to go, with a whole free hour around lunch? I brought you your favourite, that sausage thing the parlour on campus does. I wasn't supposed to bring it out, but I think the waitress in charge _likes_ me and so I was able to sneak it."

He takes the sandwich mutely, stares at it for a long few seconds as he tries to figure out just how to react. Ray only keeps smiling at him brightly, like any reaction is going to be greeted with his usual level of fond optimism. It makes him feel-

_Agh_.

...It makes him feel the way that Ray always makes him feel, scared and confused and so happy that he doesn't know what to do with it. Every time he even glances at the guy he gets that odd fizzing in his body, that strange warmth in his chest. He feels like he's been flipped upside down, like he's standing on ice without a skate anywhere near. He feels like he's safe, like he's at _home_ for the first time in his life.

He realizes that he's been silent and staring for several minutes only when Ray gently clears his throat, reaches out to take his arm and urge him on to a slow stroll, "come on, it'll go cold if we wait for too long. Want to go to the park? We can sit down on one of the benches, appreciate the grass, appreciate each other..."

"Careful," he finds his voice slowly, fingers closing around the sausage sandwich like it's something important, "we're still in 1959, it's hardly like the world has got _that_ much more accepting in a year."

"Eh, I'm willing to hide behind a tree," Ray offers cheerfully, seeming obscurely pleased by the sound of his voice, and keeps walking.

 

\--

 

“It’s our six month anniversary,” Ray says one day, out of fucking nowhere.

They’ve been sitting on the couch after work, necking like horny teens. Since apparently even 1959 obeys the laws of nature, light filters in through the windows and makes their ratty little apartment stunningly bright. It certainly fits Ray’s mood. It might even, the past few months, be starting to fit his – maybe because he’s fucked Ray enough for some of the optimism to rub off, maybe because he’s just _happy_ for the first time in as long as he can remember.

Either way. The suddenness of the statement causes him to draw back from Ray’s neck blinking, glance across to where their ratty calendar is pinned against the wall before he can believe it “...I suppose it is.”

Six months.

Six _months_. He hasn’t fucked anybody for six months before, not a single person. Before now it’s always been one night stands, brief fumbles in the dark and names happily forgotten in the morning. And on the rare occasions that he has tried for more, actual romance as opposed to straight against the nearest wall, they’ve always ended with a door slammed pointedly in his face. Heck, even outside the romantic sphere the only person who’s been able to put up with him for more than a handful of spaced out weeks is Snart. Six months...

“Mick,” Ray says softly, seeming to sense how lost in his own head he is.

Six months is practically a _miracle_.

“We don’t have to make anything big out of it,” Ray offers when he finally glances back, gives a warm smile and reaches out to gently squeeze his hand, “don’t even have to go out for a meal, unless you really want to. I was just wondering, idly, that since we’ve been together so long and we live together and you don’t really go anywhere else anyway...”

“Ray,” it’s his turn to interrupt this time, odd fondness tugging in his own chest. Because if the entire universe has gone insane, he might as well roll with it, “you’re babbling.”

“Oh, sorry,” Ray blushes, but the smile remains. He doesn’t quite know what he did before that smile, but he’s pretty sure it was significantly less important than what he’s doing now, “I was just wondering, for all of those reasons and more, if maybe... If maybe you’d like to move into my room officially. Sleep there all the time, as opposed to pretending that you have your own bed.”

He stares for a long moment, silent.

“Um,” long enough that Ray flushes again, a little more uncertain, “I mean, not that you have to of course. You can stay in your own room, if you want. I was just thinking that-“

He grunts, stands up and lifts Ray into his arms before the guy can get another word out. Ray yelps, then laughs, then wraps his arms firmly around him and consents to be carried in the direction of their bedroom without a single word of protest.

A miracle. He might just be able to appreciate one of those, with enough run up.

 

\--

 

“Her name was Anna.”

It’s dinnertime, on another not particularly remarkable day. He’s cooked Ray’s favourite chicken meal, just for the hell of it, and wasn’t expecting much in response. Maybe a bright smile, a kiss, an earnest attempt to break the bed afterwards. Instead, apparently, he’s getting something akin to a confession.

...Not that he minds, particularly. He sets his own plate down on the table, patiently sits down across from Ray, “your fiancée?”

“My former fiancée,” Ray corrects, gives a painful laugh. And, goddamn, he isn’t nurturing by any stretch of the imagination but every single time the guy does something like that he kinda wants to take him into his arms and make all the bad stuff go away, “still feels weird to say that. She died a few years ago, when Deathstroke and his goons attacked Star City.”

“Oh,” he says awkwardly, though he already kind of knew all of that.

“I couldn’t save her. I tried, as hard as I could, but...” Ray sighs, looks away for a long few moments. He hesitates for a second, torn between what is right and what is sensible, and then decides _to hell with it_ \- reaches across the table and laces their fingers together, “they snapped her neck right in front of me, and suddenly the whole life that we’d had planned together was gone.”

“Ray...” He shakes his head, tightens his fingers. Brings himself to say something that he’s never actually managed before, “I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” Ray sniffs, squeezing back. But then seems to gather himself, actually manages to look up with a slightly dimmer version of his usual incredibly bright smile, “but the point of mentioning her wasn’t to make us both sad. Her middle name was Jean, her hair was brown but had red highlights when it was sunny, she laughed at all of my dumb physics jokes, she’d sometimes cook me my favourite meal just so she could see me smile-“

He opens his mouth in confusion, still holding on to Ray’s hand...

“-And until very recently, I thought that I’d never want to spend my life with anybody else.”

...He allows his mouth to fall shut, stares at Ray incredulously across the table. Nobody has ever really wanted to spend any time with him before. Even with Snart, a lot of the time, it was made entirely obvious that they were professionally useful to each other and little else. This has to be a cruel joke, a trick, an oblivious assumption at best.

But, then, nobody has actually stayed with him for seven months before either. He hesitates over the initial rush of rage, slowly dismisses it and settles for something infinitely more hopeful instead, “and now?”

“Now...” Ray says, and gives him a merciful smile. Squeezes his hand one last time, before sitting back in his chair and finally pickibg up his fork, “now I’m starting to think that that might just be changing. Mm, this is _delicious_ and I adore you. It, I mean. Hey, where did you get the sauce? The last time we went to the store they said we’d have to order in for it-“

He sits back in his own chair, and allows himself a slightly dazed smile.

 

\--

 

They settle into a routine with their fucking too, oddly enough, one that he’s about as used to as this whole domestic business. It’s not that he’s gone long without before, casual pick-ups and arrangements to take the edge off being a common feature for most of his life, but it’s just... Well, he’s definitely never gone so long with the same person. Has never slept with one guy over ten times, has never learned the various tones of his groans, has never rolled over in the afterglow before and realized that he wants to be nowhere else.

He still half expects to hit a sudden wall of boredom, one of these days. He also, more realisticly, still half expects Ray to suddenly regain his sanity and run away screaming. It can get a little tense, sometimes.

He’s got Ray up against the kitchen counter this time, hands in that thick black hair and tongue fed steadily into his mouth. The man is about as enthusiastic as he always seems, leaning up eagerly into his grasp and cheerfully attempting to feed his own tongue back in reply. It’s a perfectly normal encounter, a christening of yet another surface in their apartment... Until Ray leans back, licks his lips and offers up his very brightest smile, “hey. You know how much I enjoy this, right?”

“Uh,” he says, and being so turned on really just makes his natural state of confusion so much worse, “yes? Kinda hard to miss, when you’re grinding against me like that.”

“I just wanted to establish that,” Ray flushes, but laughs along with it. Leans up to give him another kiss, a slower one this time that sends that pesky feeling of warmth shooting right through him, “you know, because you have that slightly silly history of not believing me when I say totally true things. And I understand that, I really do, but-“

He slowly arches an eyebrow, trusts it to carry across every bit of amused frustration that he’s feeling right now.

“...Anyway!” Ray takes the hint, as he does at least a quarter of the time. Carries on with that flush still attractively high on his cheeks, “to sum up: I enjoy what we’re doing now a hell of a lot. But, I don’t know, don’t you feel like there could be _more_?”

“More?” He asks slowly, heart giving an uncomfortable thud in his chest as Ray nods brightly in reply “...Going to have to be a bit more specific there, Palmer.”

“Why are you calling me-?” Ray blinks, and then his eyes go wide. Before he knows it the man has reached out, somehow dragged him closer with a determined look in his eyes, “oh, hush, I don’t mean it like _that_. That’s why I had the whole opening spiel! No, all that I actually meant was that while I _like_ being pressed against every surface going I wouldn’t mind us getting a little more creative.”

“Meaning...?” He asks, soothed if still confused.

“There are a thousand things we could do with your gun,” Ray says plainly, giving him a look so hopeful that he’s kinda stunned that a sunbeam doesn’t immediately shoot through the window to highlight it, “or my suit, for that matter. We’re both enterprising gentlemen, I’m sure that if we put our minds to it we could come up with any number of fun ideas.”

He stares for a moment, breathless. 

“Mick...?”

“We’d have to do it outside of the apartment,” he blurts, perhaps the most stunned he’s been in his entire life. In a pleasant way. Nobody, not even once, has dared to offer something like that before. Nobody has ever looked at him with as much trust as Ray, while offering up everything he’s ever wanted on a silver platter, “just so we don’t burn all our shit, and then get kicked out and have to live in our stolen car again. And, um, it’d have to be private-“

“Already taken care of,” Ray smiles, so obviously happy at his stunned joy that he can suddenly barely breath around the love in his chest, “did I tell you that I managed to clone a copy of the key to the roof? We can go up there, and experiment as much as we want.”

...The love.

The realization of it is, perhaps, understated. But, at the same time, long overdue. He can’t mind it much, if at all. He can only smile, dazed yet again, and lean in to cover Ray’s grinning mouth with his own.

 

\--

 

Time keeps moving on, as it always does. Day by day, week by week, month by month. Summer fades to a surprisingly damp autumn, and that surprisingly damp autumn progresses to an entirely average winter. He keeps his job at the garage, even starts getting more commissions at the behest of his boss. They use the extra money to repaint the bedroom, a slightly darker shade that shows fewer stains.

...And through it all he remains in Ray's bed. Willing, peaceful, still so _happy_ in a way that he never ever thought to have.

"You're smiling again," Ray informs him one night, flopping down besides him on the couch with a grin so bright that he's pretty sure he could still see it if he turned off all the lights, "no, don't stop! Haven't I told you how much I like your smile?"

Of course he has, because Ray never really stops with his compliments. He's always commenting on his smile, how good his cooking is, how intelligent he is. He wants to protest, every single time, but the relentlessness of it is kinda starting to wear him down. All he can do is smile again, a little more helpless this time, and fondly shake his head, "don't you have better things to pay attention to?"

"Absolutely not," Ray huffs, gently reaches out to swat him on the arm, "what could be more important than you, after all?"

"Making rent," he offers wryly, by now practised at ignoring that warmth in his chest. He's worked out what it is by now, but he's still not exactly ready to confront it yet. Maybe soon, at some point in all the years they've got stretching out ahead of them, "doing your job, eating on a regular basis... Fiddling with that beacon you've been working on."

Ray stares at him for a long few moments, seeming slightly surprised at the mention of the beacon, and then grins again. Shakes his head firmly, and turns the gentle tap into an even more gentle stroke, "I stick to my point. _None_ of those are more important than you."

"Ray..." He swallows down the warmth with a little more difficulty this time, as the guy continues to ever so brightly stare at him, "not even the beacon?"

Ray's look turns surprised again, and then confused. His hand remains on his arm, ever so gently stroking.

"...Not even getting back to the Waverider?"

"No," Ray says ever so slowly, looking at him like he hasn't quite considered the possibility before. And then frowns, his expression firming just slightly like he's already made his decision and is beyond happy to stick with it, "of course not. The whole of time and space is worthless to me, if it doesn't contain you."

And he isn't expecting it, is expecting to be able to laugh it off without even the slightest pause, but the impact of those words make him breathless. Hit him right in the chest, like a bolt to the heart, "you- you can't be serious."

"Why not?" Ray asks, staring at him like it's absolutely obvious, "the Waverider was cool, sure, and the people on it were largely rather nice. But they're in the past now."

"Ray..."

"And you're my future," Ray continues steadily, still giving him that absolutely obvious look, "if it's a straight up contest between them and you, you and the life that we're building together are going to win every damn time."

"But..." There's a prickle in his eyes, the warmth in his chest almost intense enough to be painful. He doesn't know what Ray's done to him, but it's something awful and terrifying and wonderful all at once. He has to take a deep, shuddering breath before he can even think of continuing, "I'm a criminal, and a thug, and an idiot. I'm the least suitable person for somebody like you to pin their entire future on, the least deserving guy in the whole fucking universe. I'm-"

"Honestly? One of the best men I've ever known," Ray interrupts softly, and leans forward to still his babbling with a kiss. Only draws back, patient and kind, when he's finally stopped trying to talk, "sure, you have a slightly terrifying exterior. But that doesn't _matter_. You're brave, and you're loyal, and you're far too good at looking after people for your own good. You're good at cooking, and good with your hands, and good at fixing most of the problems that fall in your path. You're funny, and nice to talk to, and so _smart_ that I honestly want to strangle whoever made you feel like you were dumb. And I lo-"

They both freeze for a long moment, breathless. Ray stares at him, wide eyed. He stares back, a strange mixture of terrified and excited that he can't quite define.

"...I adore you," Ray says softly, and he sags a little with relief. There's time for that later, after all. Maybe a day from now, or a year, or even a decade with Ray still in his arms, "against all of that, what other future could compare?"

And there's really no other response he can give to that than to slowly blink away the prickling in his eyes, take a deep and only slightly shaky breath in. They sit in silence for a long few moments, and then he wraps one arm around Ray's shoulders and drags him in. The man goes without protest, curls up into his chest like he actually _belongs_ there.

Another few moments of silence, more peaceful than they have any right to be.

"...You don't think they're coming back?" He asks eventually, soft and slow and with a damn bubble of hope in his chest that he _must've_ caught from Ray and his eternal fount of optimism.

Another long moment of silence, and then Ray huffs gently and turns the further into his chest. Peaceful, calm, like he can't imagine anywhere else where he'd - with all his optimism and joy and sheer _goodness_ like a light through the dark - would want to be, "I don't think it matters."

 

\--

 

New Years rolls around quicker than he expected, with a dusting of snow and sudden burst of cold that leaves the entire world white then icy then just faintly damp. There's still no real celebration, when he looks out of the window only a few more windows than last year are lit up, but he doesn't really mind. Not when Ray is here - insistently leaning his head on his shoulder, drinking champagne, _laughing_.

"One whole year," he muses, as their battered old clock - still somehow working against all the odds - ticks over midnight, "fancy."

"You sound surprised," Ray teases, lifting his tipsy head to give him an ever so fond smile. Even after a whole year, and a little bit more if he's being honest with himself, that smile still has the power to pin him in place. He wonders if that's ever going to change.

"Aren't I allowed to be?" He settles for asking instead, covering his starstruck foolishness with a low grunt.

"Legally?" Ray sees right through him anyway. Makes an over the top face, and leans up to give him a warm kiss "...Mm, you're on shaky ground. And emotionally, and morally too. You better watch yourself, or suffer the consequences."

"You're such a comedian," he deadpans, hides his own fond smile into Ray's hair, "I don't know how I've put up with you for this long."

"You seem to manage," Ray hums cheerfully, and continues to look at him with those ever so bright eyes. The ones that captivate him every single time, the ones that not even a wildfire could compare to, "hm, we're in the Swinging Sixties now. I wonder what's going to change."

"Not much, I'm betting," he snorts, hesitates for a second as those eyes turn right on him and shine curiously "...I mean, uh, not that I know much history-"

"Because you're still pretending to be an illiterate caveman," Ray says playfully, "of course."

"-But it's still nine years to Stonewall," he continues stubbornly, glad that he doesn't blush much. Heck, with Ray around he would've blushed himself to death roughly a year or so ago, "thirteen years until we stop being classed as mentally ill just for bein' together. Forty- _one_ years until we can do anything official, and even then only if we move countries. It's good to be optimistic sure, but..."

He grinds to a halt. Ray is still staring at him with wide eyes and an open mouth, a strange joy spreading across his face that it's entirely impossible to miss.

"What?" He asks cautiously, uncertain, "did I accidentally use a physics term, or-?"

"Not today," Ray whispers, then laughs, then leans forward to kiss him again so enthusiastically that all he can do is blink briefly and hold on for the ride, "it's just that... Well. I want you to know that I see a future with us too, no matter how long it takes."

He replays his last few words in his mind, freezes... And decides not to argue the point. There's very little he could say in response, after all. Very little that'd be true.

"Come on," and at his lack of retort Ray's smile grows, wider and wider until he can't imagine being anywhere else but willingly trapped in orbit around it, "we've seen midnight, want to go celebrate our one year anniversary already?"

 

\--

 

Usually Ray's the one to meet him, but today the guy has a slightly longer running class and so he decides to make an exception. Actually makes a few sandwiches in advance, packs them roughly in the nearest bag he can find and strolls over. His boss likes him well enough, it's no trouble to take a day off just to revel in Ray's presence.

"You know," Ray offers softly as they stroll down to the park, close enough to be intimate but not too close to arouse any suspicion, "it's been several years since they left us here. The folks on the Waverider, I mean."

"They could still come back," he says automatically, offers up a wry smile as Ray turns to give him an exasperated look, "I, uh-"

"It still doesn't matter," Ray snorts fondly, shakes his head and comes to a halt by their usual bench - the deliberately not romantic looking one, which they can easily hold hands behind, "and I'm looking forward to several long years of repeating that until you believe it. How long do you think it's going to take?"

"Several decades," he chuckles, as they both sit down, "at _least_."

"I was expecting centuries, so that's an improvement!" Ray smiles cheerfully, only stops leaning towards him when he deliberately holds up his hands. Even after several years, he's still all theory and no common sense. It'd be annoying, if he didn't like it quite so much, "what did you bring today?"

"Your favourite."

"The chicken recipe?" Ray sighs in joy, gives him another warm look as he opens up the bag, "you always know what I like."

They eat in companionable silence for a few minutes, close enough to thrill. Every so often Ray's wrist will brush his side, or his knee will bump against Ray's thigh. It could be easily denied, no cop could ever charge them, but it still feels intimate enough to be... Exciting. Nice. Good, in a way that he never once expected.

But, then, he never really expected any of this. Five years ago - heck, even _two_ years ago - he would've never thought that he'd end up trapped in 1960. Or in a relationship with Ray fucking Palmer. Or actually _happy_. He thought his life would be a constant parade of dumb misery, idiotic pain after idiotic pain ending probably brutally and in flames. To have this instead, this warm happiness that seems set to go onwards and onwards...

"You know," Ray says suddenly, as if keyed into his thoughts. Turns in his direction, with a soft smile on his lips like he can't quite believe it all either, "I know we haven't been together for that long, relatively. And I know that we can't actually do anything yet, and that it's hardly the ideal situation as a result, and that you might not even want to do it anyway. But... Mick Rory, would you-?"

He opens his mouth, heart pounding with odd excitement.

...And the skies part, and the Waverider comes down in all its glory with the sun glinting off the cold metal.

 

\--

 

"So," Rip finishes carefully, watching them with suspiciously narrowed eyes, "you don't have any idea where Ms Lance is, then?"

The entire atmosphere of the bridge is suspicious, to be entirely honest. Has been suspicious ever since they stepped on board. Their closeness, barely noticed in 1959, has been quite clearly noted by all involved. Snart keeps trying to catch his eye, and Kendra can't seem to stop glancing between them with pursed lips. The reaction seems generally more confused than actively hostile, but he knows very well how quickly that can change.

"She left two years ago," Ray seems oblivious to the atmosphere, or simply uncaring. Every time somebody tilts their head or narrows their eyes he reacts by raising his chin, edging ever closer with an indifference that borders on defiance, "you know, after you abandoned us in the past. What were we supposed to do?"

"Stop her, Mr Palmer?"

"What," he offers slowly, coming to Ray's support as he always has over the past few years, "were we supposed to keep her prisoner, or something? Lock her up in our spare room, on the vague chance that you'd come back for us?"

Rip's lips narrow, Rip's eyes take on that angry glint that he almost forgot. A pity, the effect is kinda hilarious, "it's about the level of your usual morals isn't it, Mr Rory?"

"Like you have any room to talk," Ray snaps defensively, before he can do more than scowl. When he glances over, surprised, the man has gone an angry shade of red and his eyes are narrow, "how many people have you taken prisoner, _mr_ Hunter? How many times have you cared about actually doing the right thing?"

There's a short, stunned silence. He suddenly finds that he can't stop looking at Ray, attention entirely captured by his defensive rage.

"...So," Jax says awkwardly into the silence, glancing between them with an odd expression on his face - still sorta confused, but twitching like it wants to be amused, "you're sure you don't know where she's gone?"

"She didn't say," he provides, dragging his attention away from Ray and firmly ignoring Snart's increasingly determined attempts to catch his attention, "she just packed her bags, and left with only a fuckload of yelling. She could be anywhere."

"And you didn't try to find her?" Rip asks, still looking somewhat stunned.

"She's an assassin," he shrugs, allows a little of his smugness to show. He feels like it's allowed, to see Rip knocked off his stride is somehow more satisfying than he thought it'd be, "she don't want to be found, she won't be found. We tried a little, Ray built several machines, but..."

"Not even a machine can manage the impossible," Kendra provides for him, looking thoughtful. Still confused, but definitely not verging into angry yet, "I might have some idea of where she'd be, though, based on what you said. She obviously felt abandoned and unsure, she _was_ an assassin... Gideon, correct me if I'm wrong but didn't the League of Assassins exist in 1958?"

"Indeed," the computer beeps thoughtfully, "and in 1960, Ms Saunders, which I will remind you all is the current year."

" _Ouch_ ," Jax winces guiltily, "guilt tripped by a machine."

"We have to set off immediately," Rip sniffs, blatantly trying to get back on top. It'd be annoying, if he wasn't so obviously desperate, "and retrieve her. The sooner we get out of this time period, and back to our mission, the better. This delay could attract any number of agents, all focused on destroying us and our ship."

"Hold on," Ray sniffs, as he doesn't bother to hide the roll of his eyes, "I agree that we need to retrieve Sara, we can't leave her stuck here too, but we also need to retrieve other things. We need to go back to our apartment, get Mick's gun and my suit and our chicken recipes."

"Mr Palmer," Rip says, smugly as if he's just spotted a loud and clear opportunity to power trip, "need I repeat the danger of delaying..."

"It's already been a delay of several years, for us," Ray refuses to back down, only raises his chin yet again and gives Rip a look of such obvious defiance that it's kinda a miracle that the guy doesn't burst into flames, "what difference is an hour more going to make? You know, unless you're planning to run off and leave us again."

And Rip's face goes pale, guilt flashing briefly over his expression.

"Besides," he says supportively, unwilling to let Ray - handsome, optimistic, surprisingly protective _Ray_ \- be the only one to get in a few licks, "weren't you only a few, oh, _years_ ago lecturing us about the dangers of leaving technology in the past? It ain't just sentiment."

"Mr Rory..." Rip manages, weakly.

"It's stoppin' Savage from becoming a shrinking, flame shooting threat," he finishes smugly, sends the pleased looking Ray a sly glance, "reason enough to let us go, don't you think?"

A long pause, as Rip obviously struggles with his strange mixture of outrage and annoyance and _guilt_ as sweet as sugar.

"...So," Snart, surprisingly, is the first one to speak. Leaving behind subtlety in one final burst, to deliberately step forward and give him an entirely obvious glance, "it is a little bit about sentiment, then?"

"To speak for both of us, just this once: _duh_ ," Ray snaps, and reaches out to take his hand - just as deliberate and just as obvious and somehow geared to make his heart grow several sizes within his chest, "we're going, and _hopefully_ you'll still all be here when we get back."

 

\--

 

Stein offers to drive them over and Kendra briefly suggests flying support, two entirely unexpected shows of friendship that he has to fight hard not to be affected by, but in the end they head back to their apartment alone. Their ratty little apartment, with its easy route to the roof and tiny kitchen and bedroom with several barely covered stain marks on the walls, that has somehow become home in the years they’ve spent together.

“Can you believe his nerve?” Ray huffs, retrieving his suit from under the bed with a stormy expression, “he just drops out of the sky, several years after leaving us here with no explanation, and expects everything to instantly get back to normal! Honestly, the things he said to you...”

“Yeah,” he agrees, sits heavily down on the bed. There’s the sense of something coming to an end in the air. What, he’s not quite sure yet, “they were tragic.”

It’s a fifty-fifty chance as to whether Ray will notice the tone, he loves the guy but he sure can be oblivious sometimes, but apparently he’s in luck. There’s a long pause from below the bed, and then Ray emerges with his hair ruffled and his eyes narrowed, “hey, did the stupid stuff he said upset you that much?”

“Not exactly,” he shrugs. Briefly considers closing off again, and then relents at the look in Ray’s eyes, “I’m kinda used to it, from him and others. It’s just... What’s gonna happen now?”

A long pause, Ray staring at him silently in confusion “...What do you mean?”

“The Waverider came back, turns out they didn’t abandon us after all,” he hesitates, finds that the best option is to shrug again under the scrutiny of Ray’s eyes, “which means that they want us back on the team, which means we’re gonna have to leave here, which means that maybe one day we’re gonna get back to our old lives.”

“I suppose,” Ray offers softly, still staring.

“...So what does that mean for us?” He rubs at the back of his head, takes a deep breath and decides to forge on as best he can through the sudden choking in his throat, “I’m a criminal, you’re a genius billionaire. I’m a guy with a flame gun, you’re a guy who built his own shrinking suit. My own mother wouldn’t trust me as far as she could throw me, but you... You’re liked by everybody, no matter what time period you’re in.”

“Mick...”

“All I’m saying,” he continues stubbornly, pushing past the pain as he always has, “is that if you want this to be just a past thing, I completely-“

He’s interrupted with a kiss. And not just any kiss, but the kind of one that takes him straight back to the bed with an enthusiastic Ray sprawled on top of him. For a long moment any semblance of thought leaves his mind. There’s only Ray’s lips and Ray’s tongue and Ray’s presence steady on top of him like a guiding star.

“Haven’t you listened to anything that I’ve said over the past year?” Ray asks breathlessly when they finally part, lips so red that he decides on the spot that he wants to see nothing else for the rest of his life, “I don’t care about our differences, or the ship, or even the ever so perfect life I apparently have waiting for me back home. I don’t care about them, because they’d all be worthless without you.”

“Ray...” It’s his turn to breathe this time, breathless in much the same way, “do you know how insane that sounds?”

“Doubtlessly very,” Ray smirks, slow and steady from his chest, “but I’m all kinds of fine with that. The life we’ve built together is stronger than anything that tries to tear us apart, and that’s not going to magically stop being true no matter how many time travelling ships fall from the sky. I want you, Mick. I love you. And, if you let me... Well, I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you no matter what time period we’re in.”

He stares for a long moment, stunned.

He chuckles, still breathless, and reaches up to run a hand through Ray’s ruffled hair, “more than very, Ray. In fact, that’s probably the most insane thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Mick...” Ray sighs, hope still so absurdly evident in his eyes.

“But that doesn’t mean it’s bad,” and he can’t stop _smiling_ about it. Because that’s, at its root, why he fell in love with the guy. His absurd optimism, his hope against all odds, the way he can see the good in anything no matter how terrifying may be. He’s an improbable sunbeam of a person, and he’s never wanted anything so much in his life, “it’s crazy, and stupid, and the wildest idea I’ve ever heard... But why not? Thinking of it, I’d quite like to spend the rest of my life with you too."

Another pause. Ray stares down at him in surprise, a smile spreading across his face that’s so wide it’s a miracle it doesn’t crack him in two, “you mean it?”

“Have I ever lied to you?” He smirks a little, resigned. Changes his answer with another shrug, “have I ever really wanted to? I’m being serious, Ray. Let’s spend the rest of our lives together. Travelling through time on a spaceship, with a captain who hates me and the whole universe at our feet. Let’s at least _try_.”

And as Ray kisses him again, joyous and hopeful on their ratty old bed in 1960, he’s never been quite so glad for the paths he’s taken.


End file.
